


The Kindling Kiss

by epkitty



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fairy Tales, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-07
Updated: 2011-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-16 04:02:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epkitty/pseuds/epkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A wish. A curse. A kiss... Or six.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired most notably by Snow White and Sleeping Beauty.

There was a vision:

 _Erestor drifts through the House, a dark and reclusive phantom. He is quiet; he is calm. As a toothless hound drags his cracked and ancient paws across a diminishing territory, Erestor wanders with nothing but a grim and wasted tedium. He is known as the Ghost of Imladris, it is what they call him. Never how they address him. His is a beauty bred of elegance, stillness, silence, as mystifying and far-flung as the blood-ringed moon. He moves with fluid, ethereal grace: his gestures bound by humility; his shadow, by muted despair. A solemn demeanor guides his everyday manner; an easy deference defines his everyday dealings. Like tempestuous clouds on a red-rimmed horizon, some barely palpable sorrow renders a temptingly beautiful gloom of Erestor’s life. It calls out, this shell, this hollow vessel, to be filled. Anguished heartache makes his beauty a tarnished one, and it is therefore all the more lovely. It calls out. It calls out for a catalyst, a consummation, a kindling._

This was the vision that haunted the Golden Elf of Imladris.


	2. Once Upon A Time

An Elf, broad and tall with waving golden hair, walked the dirt road that led north to the ancient stone gates of Imladris. Through the woods and meadows he walked, over brisk streams and by rotting cairns older even than he. Blue eyes twinkled at the chattering of the animals and the twittering of the birds. He smiled as he walked along, conversing with those trees that would stoop to speak to him.

When the sun grew high, he reached an open place in the land, stretching round about him like a yellow sea were tall grasses waving in the midsummer breeze. Like straw it seemed, or wheat, but it was only a weed, tawny and gold, growing in a place where trees dared not. All but one tree, distant in the sea of gold, presiding over the land.   
 He waded through the grasses that barely reached his hips, fingertips tickling the tufting heads as he teased the weeds with a laughing smile. He approached the old oak that grew there, giant and heavy, to sit at its bole in the shade of its branches. He leaned back against the thick trunk and drowsed in the breeze, the ancient branches undulating gently above him.

= = = = =

Glorfindel’s arrival in Imladris was as the first breath of spring after a long winter: silent and subtle and desperately needed. He wandered through the gates an unexpected blessing, and he fell into the good graces of Imladris’s Lord and Lady. He openly cherished everything and everyone around him and he quickly fell in love with all of Imladris.

He marveled at the libraries, he mooned over the gardens. He stalked through the wood and he rifled through the kitchen. He secretly skittered across the rooftops and swam naked in the river. Glorfindel carved out a home for himself in the Last Homely House as surely as if he had carved it in stone. In no time at all it was commonly accepted that Rivendell was not complete without the sound of Glorfindel’s laughter echoing in the halls, and it was not long before that laughter, too, was heard ringing out over the yard and through the stables and barracks. Glorfindel was Captain within a decade. Within two, he earned the name ‘Golden Elf of Imladris.’

It took him nearly this long however, to exchange his first words with the Ghost of Imladris, the name by which he first identified Erestor.

The distant form of a skeletal Elf wrapped in neutral colors fading in and out of the shadows there in the Last Homely House had marked the first weeks of his arrival. Glorfindel noted the figure and attempted to make contact, but the Elf melded into the hidden corners and corridors with a sureness that was ghostly, and so Glorfindel was patient.

When patience gave out, he asked.

It was as he was conversing with the young minstrel favored by Elrond’s court that the figure again appeared, alighting on a high balcony overlooking the Grey Courtyard. Glorfindel immediately ceased his dialogue and aimed a strong finger. “That Elf,” he wondered, “I have seen him before, but he is ever out of reach.”

“Ah,” Lindir had replied. “The Ghost of Imladris--”

“Ghost?” Glorfindel interrupted. He returned his gaze to the balcony.

It was empty.

Lindir’s tinkling laughter was kind. “I speak figuratively. It is an affectionate name used by many here. That is Elrond’s Chief Counselor.”

“Erestor?” Glorfindel asked. “Aye. I have heard the name.”

Lindir nodded and turned away, moon-pale hair shining in the new starlight. His harp he carried under his arm and a strong breeze tickled the strings to a pulsing tone. Pale garments of green and silver whipped about his willowy form. Glorfindel noticed little of this, but turned to follow the minstrel.

Away they went, through the twining paths of the wood that circumvented the House until the trees opened out to a grassy slope that led down to a great, moonlit field. Giant, hulking shapes stood still in the moonbeams, silent and vast. The circle of stones was mysterious, but soothing.

“What do you know about him?”

Lindir ceased their walk at this henge, under the open night sky with stars singing above them. “Erestor is Erestor,” Lindir laughed and shrugged as he leaned against the great white standing stones. “He is called the Ghost; you can deduce why. He is silent. He is rarely seen. He has no friends, if you can imagine.” Lindir sighed and shook his head and wandered to sit on the old blue boulders that made up one of the inner circles in the field where they stood. “I do not claim to know him well. Erestor is the local mystery. From whence he comes, why our Lord trusts him, I cannot tell. But I do know that his schedule does not vary from day to day. In fact, those in the kitchen and libraries joke that they can set their clocks by his inspection schedule. Alain tells me that he walks by her everyday at precisely eleven twenty-three when she’s setting out the places for luncheon.” Lindir shook his head again and smiled. “I never much think about Erestor. He keeps himself to himself, not like me. Not like anyone here really.” Lindir strummed a random tune and hummed to himself as Glorfindel looked about the circle they stood in. He found a certain comfort in the massive white stones there.

The minstrel abruptly ceased his interlude and spoke again. “Beyond that, I can tell you he spends a great deal of time in the late evenings in the library. That time is his own and he chooses to seclude himself there, busy with research I am told. But to be honest, Erestor is not the sort of Elf people choose to associate themselves with. He wants to be alone; we let him.”

= = = = =

To Lindir, it was simple. To Glorfindel, it was a mystery that needed solving.

The Golden Elf discovered that Erestor, as Chief of the Household, routinely conducted building inspections everyday. Once at eleven in the morning, and again at six in the evening. Glorfindel found some time in his own schedule to accommodate this and began shadowing Erestor’s steps. He neither bothered the Counselor nor attempted to hide himself. He preferred to think that he was being subtle, but highly doubted that Erestor would miss the fact that Glorfindel made a habit of following him around every time he took a walk through the house.

Glorfindel was curious. He told himself he was doing no harm. He discovered, however, only more questions in his spying. Why was it that Erestor was so cold to those he worked with? Why did he never smile, nor joke, nor laugh? What burden was there that overshadowed all the goodness of his life so that he appeared ever empty of it?

Continuing to watch, Glorfindel was certain he could discern what manner of troubles weighed down the beautiful Elf, whether it was some unforgettable crime in his past or worry for the future. But watch though he might, Glorfindel came no closer to understanding this secret.

Glorfindel became more devious in the Hall at meals. He shifted his seat every few days. This wasn’t difficult, as he preferred to meet and talk with new people, but he made sure to get closer and closer to Erestor’s shadowy end of the table until he could observe the sober Elf attend his plain food, again with that impeccably fine grace: slow and controlled and practiced. And so little did Erestor ever eat, that Glorfindel was no longer surprised at his sickly wan and lean appearance.

Also, he began attending Council meetings, as Elrond bid his new Captain. Glorfindel was delighted to find that he sat everyday with Erestor and could watch him anew in this most recent setting. Erestor, however, said little at these meetings, more prone to listening and watching. At Council, Erestor was as a living statue. He could sit still for the full hour in the same position, moving only his eyes. All Glorfindel had to do was glance at him to start shifting in his own seat in sympathy.

All through their Council meetings, he watched. All through their meals, he watched. All the day, he watched. And all the time he learned for himself only what he had already been told. Erestor governed himself with refined elegance. He moved little. He spoke less. When he did move, he was fluid as water or trees bending in a gentle wind. When he did speak, he was quiet and his voice rumbled like a low thunder.

Again, Glorfindel was patient, but when patience ran out, he asked.

= = = = =

When Glorfindel found himself creeping out of the Hall of Fire early one night to follow Erestor to the dark and dusty library, he discovered a thrilling in his stomach as of anxiety or fear. He drew upon a warrior’s courage when he breached that still and nearly holy place in the dark of the night.

Merely opening the door, even as silently as he did, would alert anyone in the space to his presence, for it set the candles to guttering. When he shut the door behind him, the flames flickered again, and Glorfindel fancied he could hear the tiny roars from them as of a fairyhost choir. He swallowed nervously and waited for the flames to settle, as though waiting for a tricky horse to calm after mounting.

As Glorfindel looked silently about him, he realized the candles in their brass and tin lanterns formed a path, so that much of the library was in darkness, but that he could easily follow the candles’ cheery light. He took a steadying breath and moved down the short steps and into the twining paths made by the shelves. As silent as he walked, Glorfindel still knew the chafing of his boots on the thinning rug was audible to anyone listening for an intruder.

So Glorfindel wandered, uncommonly conscious of the slightest noise he made, gently running his finger down the spines of a few books to reassure himself of their presence. He followed the trail of little illuminated lanterns that had given away his presence, uncertain what he would find at the end of it.

Alone at night in the library for the first time was a revelation for Glorfindel. He found the place to be as sacred as the standing stones he was so fond of. The leather of the bound volumes seemed warm to his touch, as though they too lived. But unlike the sturdy wisdom of the giant stones under starlight, the tomes in this place hummed with an urgent vibrancy in the soft candlelight that also seemed mysterious, blurring the edges to what should have been his certain reality. This place was neither dark nor dusty.

Finally, the golden light revealed to him the Ghost of Imladris, in his customary robes of dark gray, black hair in the long braid down his back, finely tapered fingers caressing a large and ancient book before him at the tall worktable where he stood in a small opening in the shelves, like a clearing in a forest.

Erestor suddenly stilled, like the instant between heartbeats. He withdrew his hand from his work and the sound of his skin whispering over the parched vellum was as that of ginger-gold leaves rasping against the cobbled stones in autumn. It was the only sound in the room in that moment.

Then, Erestor folded his hands before him and surveyed Glorfindel as one would a new and fairly uninteresting specimen.

Licking his lips, Glorfindel stood uncertain at the threshold to this, he suddenly realized, very private workspace. He couldn’t imagine Erestor had many visitors in these hours, when hosts of Elves gathered in the Hall of Fire, when all the Elves in Imladris knew better than to disturb the Ghost.

He took a step backward, suddenly embarrassed, as if he had walked in on something far less innocuous than a working Counselor. He spoke, choked and dry, “It was not my intention to interrupt.”

“Stay where you are.” The first words Erestor ever spoke to him, directly to him! Glorfindel obeyed. Instantly. He beheld with those endless blue eyes Erestor’s calm demeanor. “Of course you meant to interrupt.” He was not angry. “Come,” he gestured with a gently sweeping arm to a chair that stood at the end of the bookcases arranged like wheel spokes emanating out from the axel of the place where he worked. “Sit.”

Again, Glorfindel obeyed, looking intently up, as though he were certain Erestor was about to reveal some profound secret.

But the Counselor did not. He returned Glorfindel’s look, though again without any perceivable emotion. Finally, he did speak. “Why are you here?”

“I . . .” Glorfindel managed.

Erestor raised a brow in silent enquiry. Then, receiving no further response, he ignored Glorfindel and turned back to his work.

The Counselor had amassed various piles of texts and he was slowly sorting through them, comparing passages and jotting down only a few notes as he went. It seemed very tedious labor.

Glorfindel again found himself watching, but felt a certain perversion in it, as a voyeur might. He looked instead to the carefully laid planks of the polished wood floor, laid in such an intricate pattern that Glorfindel could not make it out. For some time, the Golden Elf contented himself with counting knots in the wood before he looked back up at the extraordinary Ghost of Imladris.

At first, he’d thought Erestor different; now, he knew him to be poles apart from any other Elf Glorfindel had ever known. There was something too unlike Elf-kind about him. Nothing that Glorfindel could immediately pick out, but he thought on it a long time.

As he watched the slow and precise movements, he thought back on all the other watching he’d done. In a small epiphany, he knew it was not what Erestor had that others did not. It was what Erestor lacked that others had.

Glorfindel just could not know what that indefinable something was. But he wanted to give it to Erestor, as though he could fill up this empty, shadowed vessel with golden light.

“I came because I wanted to know you,” he suddenly blurted out.

“Why?”

“Because you are mysterious. Mysteries intrigue me.”

“How can I get you to go away?” He was calm and the question was not insulting.

“Tell me about yourself.”

Erestor sighed heavily.

Glorfindel smiled just a little, as though he’d made first contact in a sparring match, though uncertain if he actually had. “What do you do for fun?”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t have fun?”

“That is correct.”

“That is absurd.” Glorfindel smiled a bit more, finding some small humor in the exchange. “Do you have no hobbies? No small pleasures?”

“No,” Erestor answered simply, without even a touch of anger or curiosity.

“Then, what are you doing?”

“Researching.”

“Researching what?”

“That is a private matter.”

“But not fun?”

“No, not fun.”

Glorfindel pouted a bit. He tilted his head. He wondered. He pressed, “You’re sure it’s not fun?”

For the first time since their conversation began, Erestor stood a little straighter and almost turned toward him. “Quite sure.”

“Ah. You must enjoy your work a great deal then.”

Erestor made no answer.

“So . . .” Glorfindel tapped his feet on the floor and rapped out a meaningless pattern on his thighs. “I hear you designed the sewer system in Imladris.” The sewer system?! Glorfindel knew he was reaching. “And the baths! The, uh, the plumbing. I’ve been beneath the cellars. Everything is very . . . efficient,” Glorfindel praised. “You must be proud.”

Erestor turned to face him.

“I am impressed by all that I have seen here,” Glorfindel elaborated, somewhat contrite.

“You desire my company then?” Erestor asked him with abrupt easiness.

“Uh…” Glorfindel entertained the sudden notion of Erestor sharing his company in bed, for his distant manner hid an uncommon beauty, but the Golden Elf was absolutely certain that was not what the Counselor was asking. So he said, “Yes. I do.”

“Do you play chess, Captain?”

“Aaaaahh . . .” the word turned into a groan, “little.” He paused and stared into those blank black eyes. “I play a little.” Glorfindel worried that a little too much adoration might have stolen into that last sentence. Erestor knew he meant, ‘I would play with you, even if I could not tell black squares from white.’

“Then if you like, seek the game where I keep it on the third shelf up. That way.” He pointed.

Glorfindel had no difficulty finding the dusty game and promptly returned to present it to Erestor.

The Counselor pointed to the far end of the tall table, where a corner had been cleared of excess papers.

The Golden Elf took care in setting the pieces, thankful he remembered how. He gave Erestor the white pieces, and so the Counselor reached out in one fine, fluid gesture to make his first move.

Glorfindel was enthralled.

= = = = =

Four games they played, Glorfindel performing remarkably worse each time.

“You play poorly,” Erestor observed, the first words either had spoken since the board had first been set.

“Yes,” Glorfindel conceded. “But I am sure I would improve with practice.” He smiled toothily at the Elf before him, finding all his easy charm and grace lost in the presence of this being.

“Is that a request?” Erestor asked.

Glorfindel shrugged, but said, “Yes it is.”

Again, Erestor sighed. “What will you do if I deny you?”

“Nothing too embarrassing,” Glorfindel assured him, uncertain of his own truthfulness. “I’d still follow you around. And I would come here every night and ask you again to play chess with me, even if you always said no.”

Erestor closed his eyes, as though pained, and returned to his books. “Very well. You are not . . . annoying. You may return here in the evenings if it pleases you.”  
 This time, Glorfindel’s grin was full and bright. “I thank you heartily, Erestor,” he laughed, reaching out to grip Erestor’s hand and shake it firmly.

The Ghost only looked at him, slightly curious. “You are welcome, intolerable one.”

= = = = =

And so began the turning of the seasons for Glorfindel and Erestor. They ate together at meals and sometimes Glorfindel would join him for his daily tours of the House, and often the Golden Elf would invade the library at night, toting with him jugs of cider or plates of sweets, his small lute or just a head full of questions.

Erestor accepted this attack with more ease than might have been expected. No longer was he solitary. No longer were his evenings a repetition of silence and reflection, but bound up with Glorfindel’s laughter and music and talk. He did not understand it, but he did accept it.

Sometimes Glorfindel felt as though he were a precocious child being indulged by a bored uncle. Erestor’s expressions were often difficult to read or underlined by some internal pain that he would never speak of. But he spoke a little more to Glorfindel and never pushed him away.

One evening when Imladris’s Captain appeared, he presented to his reclusive friend a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

Erestor eyed him suspiciously. “What is the occasion?”

“You do not know?” Glorfindel seemed delighted. He was always delighted to know anything that Erestor did not, because it was such a rare event. “It is our anniversary!” He plowed right on with his story as he not-quite-deftly uncorked the bottle and poured out two healthy doses. “Ten years ago tonight I marched into your territory and we played our first game of chess!”

“And ten years is such a long time?” Erestor inquired.

“No, but it was quite a victory!” Glorfindel proclaimed, handing Erestor a glass.

The Counselor took it, but wearily. “I do not drink.”

Glorfindel nodded. “I noticed, as a rule, you generally do not. But this is a toast! This is a celebration. Have a drink with me, Erestor!”

Erestor eyed him shortly and then nodded. “Very well.”

“Fantabulous!” Glorfindel drew out the word in a happy drawl and raised his glass, waiting for Erestor to take the hint and do likewise. “Here, then, is to a friendship well made and well kept! And to many years more of it! Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Erestor answered, with notably less enthusiasm. He watched with raised brows as Glorfindel downed his glass in a few gulps. Erestor himself took a few swallows, made a face, and laid the flute aside.

Glorfindel’s smile faded only a touch. “Why do you not drink wine, Erestor?”

“Because I do not enjoy the taste.”

“Incredible!” Glorfindel declared. “Among the merlots and champagnes! Red, white, and blush! Ice-wine and fine Riesling! Cabernet, Sauvignon, Chardonnay. None suit your tastes. I don’t believe it!”

“Please believe it,” Erestor answered. “I pray you, for else you shall turn up tomorrow night with a dozen bottles hoping to please me and you would not.”

“Nay,” Glorfindel answered, somewhat cooler. “If I did not believe you, I would drag your endlessly prim and proper self to the wine cellar.”

Erestor held up a hand. “Enough. Fetch the board and pieces, if you would and -- for the sake of our friendship -- grant me some silence this eve.”

Glorfindel smiled and obeyed.

= = = = =

When Glorfindel knew that Erestor was particularly tired or distracted, the Captain would steal the chance to gaze into those dark eyes. (He spent a great deal of time gazing.) He thought they were beautiful. (He thought everything was beautiful.) But he was also saddened by what he saw. If Erestor’s gestures were unmotivated and slothful, if his appetite was bare and lacking, these things could be forgiven. But the sheer emptiness of those eyes was spooky, and the only hint of emotion he ever saw there was an old and weary pain.

And again, Glorfindel found himself wishing he could drain that pain away and fill Erestor up with the same love for life he himself possessed.

He sat one day, when the golden orb was high, in a yellow field against the bole of an old and familiar oak and he thought on this, on this friend and this mystery. As if a spell had enthralled him, Erestor would not cease tormenting his mind. Outwardly, he smiled and the tree shrugged at him gently. If it was a torment, it was surely the sweetest he had ever known. The golden grasses shuddered and laughed at him.

= = = = =

It was with a childlike anticipation that Glorfindel awaited the seasonal feasts, for he reveled in the plates overflowing with food and the wine running freely and the song and the dance and the merriment. He noticed that Erestor did not share his enthusiasm.

One Yule Eve, Glorfindel approached Erestor’s chambers with a paper-wrapped parcel, lopsided and tied with twine, under his arm.

Erestor admitted him with graceful suspicion and Glorfindel spared a moment to study the place newly opened to him. He was spontaneously unsurprised yet disappointed to find the place much as could be expected. The prettiest thing in it was the inherent Imladrian architecture, with great swooping leaf-like cornice pieces and beautiful marble fireplace. The desk was sturdy and plain, as was its not-quite-matching chair. There was neither art on the walls nor any other decoration that he could see. Like Erestor, the place seemed empty, but unlike Erestor, Glorfindel knew that this lonely chamber was something he COULD fill up. He smiled to himself with anticipated nostalgia, and then turned that smile upon Erestor, who was just returned from the baths.

A long robe, modest though it was, revealed much of the slimness and curves and delights of Erestor’s body, especially where it gaped at his neck. If that wasn’t enough, his glorious midnight hair was still damp, and clung in small fits of snarls to his forehead and sloping neck.

Glorfindel continued to smile for a moment, incapable of anything else, and Erestor curiously regarded him.

When the moment broke, Glorfindel blinked and shook his head. “Good eve, Erestor. I brought you something.” Glorfindel could see Erestor’s almost hidden trepidation.

“How . . . kind. What is it?” he gruffly asked.

Glorfindel was no longer caught off guard by Erestor’s abruptness. In fact, he came to expect it and enjoy it as something unique to his friend. He handed over the package and said, “Open it.”

If Erestor had a habit of rolling his eyes, he would have done. As it was, he merely sighed, which WAS a habit of his, mostly developed by his acquaintance with Glorfindel. He took the parcel in his delicate grasp and unwrapped it with those flowing, faultless movements. In the end what he revealed was a ceremonial outer robe of draping velvet and delicate embroidery. The robe was a shade to match Erestor’s hair: deepest black, but it was patterned in tiny, shimmering beads and had double rows of buttons of pearl set in mithril. And the lining! Oh, if the velvet was black as pitch, the silk interior was crimson as newly spilt blood. Erestor tilted his head and the first uncertain blush Glorfindel had ever witnessed snuck up from Erestor’s open collar, a weak and subtle pink. “You think it suits me?” he asked, heartily confused.

Glorfindel was surprised at the sincerity of the question, as though Erestor depended upon Glorfindel’s opinion as gospel. “Aye! And it would please me greatly to see you in it this evening.” Or out of it, he thought.

Erestor wandered over to the bed in the corner of his room and laid out the robe with reverence.

Intently Glorfindel watched the display: the graceful figure, the gentle hands, the hair that fell over a lightly muscled shoulder.

“Shall I tend your hair tonight?” . . . He hadn’t meant to say that.

But Erestor turned toward him with those bemused and still curious eyes. And nodded. He strode (glided, Glorfindel thought) to something like a vanity beside the bed. Something like, because there was no mirror. Erestor sat there and laid out a comb upon the polished surface.

Glorfindel grinned gleefully and practically pranced over to stand behind his friend. He wished there was a mirror, so that he might also watch Erestor’s face as he worked, but the thought flew away as his fingers first touched that damp and shining hair. Glorfindel was surprised to find it was not heavy as he expected, but wispy and soft. He worked the comb gently through the tangled mass until the knots were gone and the dampness dried and it hung light and loose in his hands like the finest Elven rope.

Glorfindel paused a moment in contemplation and then set to work weaving a pattern of exotic elegance from the temples to a mass of spider webbed plaits behind the head. He was quite proud to see it well formed of simple complexity and asked, “Where do you keep your hairclips?”

From a drawer in the vanity, Erestor withdrew three pieces. One was the tiny leaf that commonly clasped the end of the long braid he wore daily. Another was a small silver butterfly, gossamer and delicate. Glorfindel could see it suited the Counselor well and surmised that it had been a gift from Celebrian, though he’d never seen Erestor wear it. Lastly was a chipped ivory carving of a dove in flight. It was very small and simple, worn with age and Glorfindel thought it might have been a child’s piece. He ignored the browning, aged ivory for the moment, though filed it away to the back of his mind. He reached instead to his own hair, shaking the golden strands free as he released the mithril bauble holding it in place. It was a sparkling swirl inlaid with pearls and he thought it would complement the robe, and Erestor, quite nicely.

Erestor began to protest, “I cannot--”

But Glorfindel would have none of it and clipped the fastener in place. “You can, and please keep it, for it looks well on you.”

Erestor turned to see Glorfindel smiling down on him and he meekly agreed with a small nod.

“Do you require assistance with your garments?”

Erestor stood and bowed his head as he walked away. “No, though I thank you.”

Glorfindel shivered at the small rumble of the Counselor’s voice. “Then I look forward to dancing with you tonight.”

Erestor looked askance at him. “Very well. But only one. I am no great dancer.”

Glorfindel doubted that very much, but he agreed with a wink and a bow and left Erestor to his preparations.

= = = = =

Knowing he’d secured his first dance with what Glorfindel was coming to think of as his closest friend, he took particular care with his appearance, bathing long and carefully, ensuring his glorious golden hair was free of knots, his nails clean of dirt.

To wear, he chose dark trousers and tall black boots, but also a long doublet the color of blueberries, dark and almost purple. The garment was stitched with blue and black thread in intricate patterns of leaves and bird life, discernable only to the observant eye. Puffed white sleeves billowed at his arms and the shirt’s collar ringed his neck in tiny ruffs. Rings gleamed on his fingers and a broach bloomed with sapphire brilliance at his throat. His hair he brushed long and free and left it at that.

He perfumed his body and painted his eyes and rubbed rosemary between his fingers for luck.

= = = = =

Glorfindel felt something not altogether bred of friendship stir within him when he saw Erestor, tall and dark in that resplendent robe with fancy hair and candlelit eyes. Glorfindel smiled, small and wonderful. He tried not to prowl when he approached Erestor with long strides and took the Counselor’s hands in his own. “You look beautiful,” he said in a near whisper.

Erestor blinked rapidly, glancing side to side before nodding curtly. “Thank you.”

Then, Glorfindel’s smile grew to something shining and mischievous. He took Erestor’s hand and led him to the table.

They shared the Yule feast that night at the long tables that seated all who dwelt in the Last Homely House and Glorfindel sang a song of winter sleep when the meal was done. Then, the minstrelsy played and dancers took hand upon the ancient stone floor to rock away the starlit winter in gentle swaying circles.

Glorfindel took Erestor in his arms and they moved to the music, but Glorfindel was saddened, for it was clear that Erestor took no pleasure in it. The Counselor maintained his typical grace and performed the steps admirably, but he did not swoon to the music or smile at the light voices of the maidens who sang. He did not smile as they moved to the melody and he did not smile at Glorfindel.

As he swung Erestor about, moving almost in time together, the Counselor regarded him with vacant black eyes, and Glorfindel longed to know how to kindle a fire there.

= = = = =

As the decades progressed, the chambers that belonged to Erestor underwent a prolonged and unavoidable transformation.

It began with a chair.

This may seem harmless, but Erestor knew it for what it was. In a plain room of wood floors and simple furnishings, a wingback chair of polished mahogany upholstered in vivid red velour with gold diamonds stood out like a rose in winter. Erestor knew what the chair meant. It was Glorfindel’s chair; he was officially imbedded in the fabric of Erestor’s life now.

So Glorfindel would take to sitting in the chair whenever he came to visit, and it was not long before the chair had several companions, including a matching furniture piece and a low table set between them. A progression of rugs carpeted the floor in bright colors of geometric patterns (those had come from Gondor.) An impressively designed lamp in the form of an iris that was imported from Lothlorien stood upon the desk. A series of bright paintings and quick sketches broke up the blank spaces on the walls and the bookshelves grew heavy with fine bookends and miniature statuettes.

New bed curtains of gossamer blue replaced those of drab gray, with cobalt sheets to match and -- embroidered by Celebrian and her handmaids -- a fine quilt of tawny deer on a blue field with silver stars. The washbasin began displaying a variety of scented soaps, and vases of flowers stood throughout the room.

They began to spend more time together in those rooms of Erestor’s, in the evenings after the Hall of Fire or for the occasional meal. They spoke freely in one another’s company and Glorfindel learned Erestor’s favorite subject was politics, closely followed by trade, warfare, and literature.

Glorfindel found all these subjects intriguing and he animatedly discussed whatever provoked an equally stimulated response from Erestor. But whenever the Golden Elf attempted a foray into other, much-loved subjects such as theatre, fine dining, and romance, Erestor became as dull and lifeless as one of the little rag dolls Arwen had long cast aside. And so they rarely spoke of poetry or love, though Glorfindel mourned the lack.

The room was not the only thing that underwent a change. Erestor’s wardrobe of blacks and grays and indefinable blues was soon smattered with a collection of other colors in various attire, that Erestor began to often wear. So too did Glorfindel attend that ebony hair, whenever he was allowed, for otherwise it was forever restrained to the long single plait down a straight and narrow back.

= = = = =

Many who resided within the valley haven remarked on the unique bond between two creatures so altogether unlike, but they smiled to see the pair walking sedately in the halls or in the woods.

Still, as Glorfindel steered their stroll to the gardens one day -- having dragged Erestor from his workday -- the Captain did not maintain his usual banter, wondering instead that he’d never managed to notice the fact that Erestor was truly unhappy, that he never laughed, that he never even smiled. Without any warning whatsoever he asked, “What is wrong, Erestor, that your life is ever overshadowed by sadness?”

Erestor looked at him and said, “I cannot take the same joys in life that you do, Glorfindel. I cannot.”

And that was all the answer that he would give.

And as they walked, Glorfindel insisted upon visiting his favorite flowers and breathing in the sweet fragrance of them. “Which is your favorite, Erestor?” he asked.

“I have none, for they all smell bitter to me.”

Glorfindel’s newly formed frown deepened and lines fell between his brows. “Then which is most pleasing to your eye?”

Erestor looked loftily about him. When he answered, he spoke to Glorfindel’s intense blue gaze. “I see no beauty here.” His words were not directed to the garden.

= = = = =

After this tremulous conversation in the fresh and flowery gardens, Erestor attempted to distance himself from Glorfindel. But apparently, Glorfindel was not going to let him go so easily.

Erestor could not avoid the golden shadow that trailed him through the halls and between the stacks of the darkened library.

Slumping one day over his work, Glorfindel crept upon the hunching Counselor, smoothing his tan fingers up the solid biceps beneath thin gray robes to kneed at the knotted muscles there.

He expected Erestor to jump, to push him away, to question him harshly. He did not expect to feel those strong shoulders relax under his touch and slump in a much more pleasing way. He continued the massage, finally breathing out a halting question. “Does that feel good?”

Erestor sighed. “The pain is diminished,” he said in a tired voice. “Thank you.”

= = = = =

Celebrian’s torment seemed to cut the breath from all who had loved her, as though they had been thrust beneath the surface of a frozen lake.

Glorfindel spent a night weeping solitary beside the alter stone of the henge, which failed for the first time in giving him comfort.

Arwen cut the braids from her hair and shredded the fleece of her gown as she sobbed in the arms of her mother’s close friends.

All in Imladris could hear Lindir leading the minstrels in mourning dirges that spilled into the sweeping halls and courts laden with sorrow and pain and confusion.

Elladan and Elrohir rode out against the evil, their rage too violent to be contained within the borders of Imladris. They took up their knives and the hunt became their vengeance.

Erestor’s tears were pearly clear and slow as Glorfindel sat beside him and held his hand and listened to the Counselor tell of how Celebrian had shared tea with him in the mornings, of how he had witnessed the birth of her children, of how she had gifted him with smiles and small treasures through the years. Then, he fell into Glorfindel’s arms and cried with fierce sobs at the unfairness of it.

Elrond’s mourning was primitive and insane. All could hear his cries echoing over the valley in the thunder that followed Celebrian’s leave-taking. The rains poured his tears and the lightening flashed his anger. His grey eyes were rimmed in red and his voice parched, but he maintained his hold on the land and governed his people still.

But he was angry, and it was easy to turn his cold wrath on the Counselor who stood beside him, grim and emotionless.

It was after a meeting that Elrond murmured something about a shriveled heart when Glorfindel caught his Lord’s arm, touching him for the first time in anger. “Do not doubt that he wept for her,” he snarled before turning on his heel to march away.

= = = = =

As they sat together one evening in Erestor’s rooms with a fire blazing to keep away the cold of a particularly blistering winter with tea at hand, they talked softly of the sorts of things Glorfindel liked to talk about. Erestor was halting and hesitant and far from forthcoming with his answers.

Too long had Glorfindel kept his most desperate question unasked. He could do so no longer. “What of love, Erestor?” he asked. “Have you never loved anyone in the long years of your life, given over to the heady pleasure of adoration?”

Erestor sipped his tea. “I always thought I could do very well without love. It seems to me that it makes people miserable most of the time.”

“Yes, but Erestor, you’re miserable ALL of the time.”

The Counselor turned bleak black eyes to his friend. “No, I have never loved.”

“That is a shame.”

= = = = =

As this coldest winter faded, grudgingly making way for a soft spring, Arwen declared that she could stay no longer in her home, that she must make the long journey over mountain to the place where her mother had spent so many happy years. Elrond, terrified for the safety of his only daughter, arranged for her a delegation rather than an escort. Fifty Elves ushered the fair maid out of Imladris and Glorfindel was at their head.

All the Elves were overly wary on the swift and anxious journey. He could see it in their eyes, in the stiff way they moved, in the continuous way they turned to look behind them when there was nothing there.

A wave of relief surged over them when they reached the freezing water of the Nimrodel and Galadrim shimmered silver in the trees beyond; they knew they were safe.

Glorfindel himself presented Arwen to her grandparents, who embraced her and let her weep. Celeborn thanked Glorfindel for protecting her on the long journey and invited the Elves to stay in the comfort of the Wood for as long as they wished. Glorfindel was happy to do so.

Never had he ever been so far or so long from Imladris. A mere month was enough to set him longing again for the tranquility of Whitehenge, the jollity of the Hall of Fire, the seclusion of the libraries, and the company of his dearest friend.

One morning as he sang a soft greeting to the sun from a high talan that made up the court at the center of Caras Galadhon, he felt a presence at his side, warm and welcoming. He finished his tune and turned to see the White Lady beside him, adorned in gray traveling clothes with a rucksack in her hand. “We are needed in Imladris,” Galadriel told him, her starry eyes clouded with worry.

Glorfindel wasted no time with questions. Within the hour their two horses were carrying them away from the timeless Golden Wood toward the bustling sanctuary in the Valley, but Glorfindel’s heart beat swift with fear.

As they made small camp that first eve with as much a fire as they dared, Glorfindel asked her, “What calls us, my Lady?”

She studied him a moment, those clear and shining eyes heavy with age in a youthful face. “It is Elrond’s Chief Counselor.”

Glorfindel’s eyes widened; he nearly stood in his haste to leave again. “What has happened?” he demanded, hardly concerned at his irreverence.

“He sleeps,” she answered him. “Long and deep. He will die if we cannot awaken him. Elrond needs my help.” Then she smiled a strange and ancient smile. “And Erestor needs yours.”

= = = = =

Sensing the urgency of their riders, the two horses that carried them labored hard to cross the earth swiftly. Dappled grey and honey gold they were, and fierce horses too, determined to carry fleet and neatly their burdens for a haste was needed in a time that was desperate. Through the mountains, hooves wide and sure over the snows; then past the marshy crops of land in the thick and hazy spring. Into the woods they went, trees flashing past in streams of green and olive and brown and emerald and russet and jade. They pounded the earth and breathed steam into the morning air and foamed sweat during the day.

But proud they were and did not complain, and when they reached the dirt road that led north to Imladris, a further gust of celerity boosted them onward the last furlong to the gates.

A field of golden, waving grass they passed, quick as lightening. In the center of the field, distant from the road, an old oak beheld their fierce flight, as the streaming horses drew a wake of air behind them, in which the grass bowed in a tawny wave, severe and low, as if to say ‘hurry, you are needed.’

= = = = =

Their mounts pounded the cobblestone courts as Elves emerged to greet the Lady. She nodded and smiled and waved and took Glorfindel’s arm and they went to the Healing Schools that lay in a circle beyond the House itself.

Lindir saw them coming. Fleetly he ran to meet them, bowing deep before the Lady and saying, “Erestor is this way.”

The minstrel led them through the twisting halls of the connected cottages to a distant room that smelt of softly drowsing incense and herbs.

Glorfindel released Galadriel’s arm to fly to the bed and kneel beside it and take Erestor’s cold hand. The Counselor lay as if dead, pale and beautiful, his hair spread out like a black mantle about his head.

Elrond stood from the chair opposite the door. He embraced Galadriel wordlessly and they each came around a side of the bed to stand nearby, watching Glorfindel’s silent tears. “What has happened to him?”

“I can guess,” Elrond offered.

“I can tell you,” Galadriel promised.

Both Elrond and Glorfindel looked to her with wide eyes, surprise written in their hopeful features.

“But I would rather not,” she went on, “if he can do so himself.” Elrond nodded in acceptance and she tested him, “What is your theory, then, my son?”

Elrond’s white robes pooled at his feet when he sat again in the chair, weary and dejected. “I have had the librarians weed through Erestor’s space in the library. For over three thousand years he has been researching magic.”

Glorfindel nodded, unsurprised. He had been watching Erestor for the majority of those three thousand years.

“The magic of curses,” Elrond continued. “A way to be rid of one.”

“Is that all?” she asked.

“I did not pry into his private affairs,” Elrond told her.

“You should have.” This, from Glorfindel. “Read his journals, find his secrets. If he is plagued by some evil, then let us rid him of it!”

Elrond asked of the Lady, “You know this evil?”

“I know it,” she agreed, regret in her voice. “But let us rouse him from his cursed sleep for but a short time, that he may tell us of it.”

Elrond nodded. “I knew I needed your help to awaken him.”

Galadriel came with her gliding gestures to stand beside Glorfindel. She put a hand on his shoulder. “I need you to step aside, my friend.”

He blinked back his tears and moved to the foot of the bed so that he could witness this. Elrond, black hair tied away behind his back and wearing the white robes of a healer, took one of Erestor’s hands in his own, strong and large. Galadriel, with golden hair spilling in curling waves and still in her stained traveling gown took the other of Erestor’s hands in her own, delicate and sure. They each sat on a side of the bed looking at Erestor’s closed eyes.

They spoke, but Glorfindel heard them not, determined as he was to see those dark eyes open once more.

They sang, slow and whispering. They drew him back to the light.

Erestor’s eyes opened and Glorfindel gasped. They were empty of thought or emotion. The dark Elf was not truly awake, but still sleeping. He whispered, “I am here, but I cannot stay. Why have you called me?”

“We need to know how to heal you,” Elrond answered him.

“We need to know what curse troubles you,” Galadriel said. “Tell us.”

“You know the story,” Erestor accused her lifelessly. “You tell it.”

“I will if I must,” Galadriel said, laying her other hand upon his brow. “But I still do not know how to end this blight that afflicts you. What were the words she used?”

Erestor sighed, a rattling and hoarse exhalation.

“Your parents shall suffer for wronging me,  
Too soon they will take to the graying sea.  
With the wrongs done to me I have fashioned  
This knife to remove joy, hope, and passion.  
Take away pride, take away desire!  
This blade cuts away all of life’s fire.  
Slowly you’ll fall to the sleep of the dead  
And so it shall be as I now have said:  
For with this dulling and hollowing knife  
I cut away your enjoyment of life.”

“But surely,” Galadriel answered in a soft and willowy whisper, “those were not the only words . . .”

Erestor’s eyes began to close and he sighed the final verses.

“The sleep that claims you will last long and slow  
The one thing that wakes you, you’ll never know.  
No curse from below, no gift from above  
Only the unreserved seal of true love.”

Then Erestor closed his eyes and the final faltering word sounded as a dying breath.

Glorfindel could not help winding around the side of the white bed to lay a gentle hand on Erestor’s knee, his mouth parted in wonder as he looked at Erestor’s pale lips. “A seal. . .”

“A kiss,” Elrond murmured in wonder as he released the lifeless hand to sit again in his chair.

“A kiss of unconditional love,” Galadriel clarified. “For who would love one who could not, in turn, love?”

“Oh, but that shall be easy!” Glorfindel gushed, “For I love him!”

Silence beat in the room like a heart.

Elrond and Galadriel looked to one another. It was common enough for men of their race to lie abed together, but love of this sort was another thing.

“Are you--” Elrond began.

Glorfindel did not look at him. He took over the hand Elrond had given up and allowed himself for the first time to look on Erestor with nothing but his wholehearted love. “I could see it.” His voice, always so strong, was small as though he feared to wake a light sleeper, and laced with affection it was. “From the moment I met him, I could see the emptiness in his eyes. He was hollow.” Glorfindel brushed an errant strand of black from Erestor’s cold brow. “His eyes were void of all the life they should hold. I convinced myself I could start a fire in those eyes, find some way to arouse his interest. We played chess,” Glorfindel laughed, “and he always won, but he was never happy about it! Never happy about anything. He drank water everyday and ate the plainest foods. He took no joy in music, no pleasure in dance. He had no eye for beauty, he told me. I know now it is true. The enjoyments of his life are cut away. How long has he lived knowing only the pains of life?” Glorfindel ran a warm finger down Erestor’s cheek. “How has he lived so long?” He looked to Galadriel. “Why has he succumbed now?”

Galadriel finally released her hold on Erestor’s hand, letting it lay instead on his stomach. She leaned over to run her own hand from his brow down his cheek to his neck. She smiled at the sleeping beauty. “Because, as empty as his life was, there was something to keep him occupied and interested in it. As painful as things might have been, it was eased in some way. But whatever filled his life . . . went away.”

“Me!?” Glorfindel exclaimed.

“Yes,” Galadriel told him. “As vacant as his life may have seemed, you at least were there.”

“And I am here again, and I will bring him back,” Glorfindel vowed.

= = = = =

Elrond and Galadriel shepherded Glorfindel away from the bed to a corner of the room where they could interrogate him without distraction.

“Tell me, Glorfindel,” she questioned, “what do you think are the enjoyments of life?”

“The senses!” he responded at once. “To taste and to see and to hear and to smell and to feel! Erestor can do all of these, but he is simply missing those that are good to the senses! He cannot taste sweetness, nor see beauty. He can feel only pain, taste only bitterness. Know only torment . . . How has he lived so long?”

Galadriel ignored the question. “Are these all the enjoyments of life?” she pressed.

“No,” Glorfindel answered, quiet and serious. “These are but trifles. For true enjoyment lies elsewhere.” He covered his heart with his hand, and looked sadly over at the sleeping figure. “To hope, to laugh. To feel pride and happiness in life. To love. These are the pleasures of life that he has been denied.”

Elrond looked hard at his Captain. “And you love him? With the whole of your heart? Can you say that you love him knowing he does not love? Can you say that you love him, knowing that -- in future -- he may love another? Can you love with such freedom, without any reserve?”

Glorfindel smiled sadly, as if pitying the man. “I love him.”

As with so many things, Glorfindel found it to be quite effortless.

= = = = =

The three Elves spent the evening in discussion and, having reached a conclusion, Glorfindel was sent to bed. Elrond kept watch over their sleeper. And when the moon was high, Galadriel walked in the woods, gathering that which was needed. She crafted for Glorfindel a potion.

Bare-foot she walked the circle of the henge. She spoke ancient words. At the alter stone she lit a candle and with mortar and pestle she labored. “I work by wind, sun, water, and stone, for I am the maiden, the mother, and crone.” By light of candle and light of moon, the Lady crafted a control for him.

“From water comes the spirit all  
And by it, may his love grow tall  
And similarly, his pain grow small 

Salt of brine the next to grind  
So that the tongue is first to find  
The sweetness now gone from his mind

A violet plucked by dead of night  
Shall grant to him a freshened sight  
All the earth’s beauty he shall see in any light

The apple seed that spits in fire  
Overcomes the discordant mire  
To open his ears to sounds’ desire

Honey dripped into the mix  
His bitter scent to rightly fix  
And surmount her evil tricks

With all these, the strongest wine will stand  
The color of blood to wake the hand  
That will reach out to know all the land

Last, for the drinker and not the afflicted  
That the spell’s dispersion be restricted,  
Ash the kisser’s throat constricted.”

This is the spell she wove. She poured the potion into a vial of crystal. She dowsed the candle and kissed the moon.

= = = = =

Glorfindel awoke to see Galadriel standing above him, the new sun haloing her golden head in angelic ethereality. She glowed, and her eyes were endless as the sunlit sky though full of stars, and her smile was sweet. She held up a crystal vile full of dark and murky liquid. “Drink it down quick, before the sun reaches too high, and seek your love, where like the dead he does lie. Kiss him to undo the curse, and pray this potion makes his life -- and yours -- no worse.”

Sitting up, still in his clothes from the evening passed, Glorfindel took the draught and drank it down. He grimaced horribly and coughed, passing the empty vile back. “It’s foul!” he exclaimed distastefully, glaring at her.

Galadriel’s smile widened. “That’s the ash.”

“Ash?!”

“Embrace it,” she warned lightly, her smile disappearing. “It is that taste you must remember, for it controls the release.”

Glorfindel calmed and nodded with understanding. He stood from his rumpled bed, his hair and clothes a tangled mess. “I must go now.”

“Yes, go quickly,” she approved as he strode out the door. “And be true,” she whispered. “And love him. For that is all you have to do.”

= = = = =

Alone in the white room, with the white curtains rolling in the breeze and the white sheets covering the motionless Elf, Glorfindel closed the white door and gazed a moment at the dark Elf frozen in his cursed sleep. He approached the bed and nearly wept at the sight. Erestor looked truly dead and Glorfindel prayed that he was not too late. He brushed a shaky hand across the freezing brow. “You’re white as snow and just as cold,” he whispered fearfully.

He leant over his love, golden hair trailing on the bed sheets as he touched his ash-lined lips to those icy and pale, and sealed his love.


	3. Happily Ever After

Erestor opened his dark eyes to a new life. Glorfindel stood above him, deep blue orbs wide and expectant, his lips parted, his whole form tense and worried.

Coughing, Erestor slowly sat up, looking warily about the room as Glorfindel moved slightly away, giving him space. “I don’t understand,” Erestor wondered. “How?”

His smile trembling and hopeful, Glorfindel quoted to him, “‘Only the unreserved seal of true love.’”

Erestor’s dark gaze fixed on him, terrified and wondering and almost happy.

“I love you, Erestor.”

The Counselor’s skin pinked to a rosy blush and he looked away. “I don’t quite . . .”

“Understand,” Glorfindel finished. “I know. Since you were a boy, love has been a foreign emotion. You have no reason to understand it. But I hope you will learn.”

“And the seal?” Erestor questioned, honestly confused.

“A kiss,” Glorfindel breathed. “Only a kiss, but the curse is not yet fully lifted.”

Erestor was interested now. “Please explain.”

Glorfindel wasted no time sitting beside Erestor on the bed, taking his hand and smiling shyly. “Once we knew the rule of the curse, I knew--”

“‘We,’” Erestor wondered. “Galadriel is here. I heard her in my mind.”

“Yes. I knew I could break the spell, but so long had you been living under its hold, much longer than was ever intended, Elrond and Galadriel agreed that awakening all of you at once would be too great a shock. It might drive you mad. So in the night, Galadriel devised for me a potion to drink, so that the awakening might be slow, and at a pace of our choosing.”

“How so?”

“Six doses.” Glorfindel blushed. “Six kisses. You have received the first, the most important, for it awakens your enjoyment of life, all those mysteries you’ve been denied: love and pride and hope and relief and passion. Contentment. Amusement.” His smile glowed. “Joy.”

“And the others?” Erestor asked, pulling up his knees to wrap his arms about them. “The other kisses?”

“Will awaken your senses,” Glorfindel answered, “to the pleasures of life.”

“Ah,” Erestor said, looking down.

For a long time they sat in silence and Erestor’s face bore the signs of one much used to suffering and now tainted with a new and very real fear.

Glorfindel frowned, cocking his head, his brow furrowed in worry. “What is the matter?”

Erestor closed his eyes and desperately whimpered, “I am afraid. All of my life, the only pleasure I have ever known is the absence of pain.”

A tear fell from Glorfindel’s eye, even as he smiled, his heartbeat faltering a moment at the dreadful confession. “I am here for you,” he vowed. “And perhaps you are right. Perhaps life is easier without love. But it is not better.”

Erestor licked his lips, clearly nervous as he looked up to Glorfindel again. “But I thought love -- romantic love -- was something between men and women?”

Glorfindel shrugged, his expression drooping from hope to gloom. “That is not my way.” He stood and moved away from the bed to the window, whence came a soft and playful breeze. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I am sorry.”

Erestor shook his head in confusion. “I am not uneasy with it. Not because of that. I am still trying to understand, and I feel . . . different.”

Turning to face him, Glorfindel asked, “Different how?”

“I don’t know,” Erestor gasped. “It’s as though I do not dread the morrow. I . . . look forward to it. Anticipate it.” He looked up with wide eyes to Glorfindel. “What is it?”

Glorfindel laughed. “It is hope!”

= = = = =

The pair of Elves walked slowly through the halls, talking little, accepting the greetings of those few who approached to congratulate Erestor on seeing him well again. But Glorfindel quickly led him to his rooms, where Erestor looked surprised for a moment as he viewed the chamber. “You did this for me. Not because you were my friend.” He turned to face him. “Because you loved me.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Because I loved you. And because you were my friend.” He shrugged. “I thought it would make you happy. I didn’t know then that you couldn’t be.”

“But I can, now,” Erestor told him. He looked around again and then purposefully met Glorfindel’s eyes. “And I think it does.”

Caught in those dark orbs, Glorfindel was lost. But then he shook his head and grabbed Erestor’s hand and led him to the dining and chess table they’d set up by the window. He held Erestor’s chair for him, at which the Counselor blushed, and then Glorfindel fetched the set from a nearby shelf and sat. He gave Erestor the white side.

Erestor raised a brow. “I expected you to drag me through the land and show me all the wonders of Imladris.”

“You are not yet in a fit state to enjoy them. But do not worry, I will not disappoint. That time will come. First, we play chess.”

“Why?”

“You will see.”

And so they played, Erestor performing with his usual cool logic, and Glorfindel with his regular, distracted impatience.

And when Erestor called, “Checkmate,” the most extraordinary thing happened. He stared with wide eyes at the board, and Glorfindel watched him. Erestor smiled, the first smile in over three thousand years. The small grin grew to a full fledged, beaming smile, wide and happy. “I won.”

Glorfindel tried not to laugh at him.

“I feel, I don’t know.” Erestor shrugged and laughed and covered his mouth in surprise. “I laughed!”

“You did!” Glorfindel cried, laughing as well.

“And I feel . . . it’s . . . satisfaction?”

“Yes!” Glorfindel crowed. “Accomplishment.”

“Yes!” Erestor could not stop laughing. “It feels good! Winning. And smiling and laughing!”

Glorfindel watched him, and his own laughter quieted to a smirking smile.

When Erestor’s laughter hiccupped and slowed to a friendly grin, he regarded Glorfindel curiously and asked, “What?”

Glorfindel shook his head. “You are beautiful, but it is a new beauty to see you smile.”

Erestor looked away.

And smiled.

= = = = =

Later in the week, they bid farewell to Galadriel, but first, she invited Erestor to walk privately with her in the gardens.

As they walked, they spoke of trifling things and also of the curse. “You know much of it,” Erestor remarked.

Galadriel frowned, and Erestor thought the expression truly terrifying. “I knew the witch who cursed you.”

“Oh?” Erestor wondered, his voice falling to a whisper. “I fear to ask how you knew Arphinel.”

“It is not a story I care to repeat, but you have a right to it, more than most.” Her voice was deep and bitter. “As children, Arphinel and I played together. We learned the same art of our ancient nursemaid and shared similar gifts of mind. Yet while I grew beautiful and grand in the eyes of men, she fell embittered of me and we parted ways severely. Her heart turned against all that was good. She sheltered in darkness and curried favor with demons. As you know, she loved your father, or thought she did, and her bitter jealousy grew so great that she vowed to destroy his family if he did not take her to wife. But he saw her not as she presented herself: so dark and pale and lovely. He saw the putrescence of her heart and loved her not. He scorned her and turned the witch away. Instead, he did wed your mother, a lowborn and plain Elf whose heart was light and merry. And at your sixth year--”

“She came to our land on the back of a monstrous beast,” Erestor whimpered. “Her eyes blazed with dark fire and she carried a dagger that seemed made of ice. She ended our joy by cutting away my love of them . . .”

“And so your parents lost the love of their son. They saw you lifeless and could not bear it. They knew you would not be allowed over the sea, and so they crafted the first grey ship and set out themselves, for the loss of their son to such cruelty plagued their hearts. And you were alone.”

“But now, I am not,” Erestor answered.

“Aye, and you have Glorfindel to thank for it. And now I have words for you Erestor, and ask you not to speak. Glorfindel loves you. It is abnormal and strange to many, but there is no reason to think so. Open your heart, and blind not your eyes to the truth of what lives there. Think not on the stigmas that rule our society in these days, for it was not always so. Glorfindel’s heart is a simple one, and that is far from an insult. He makes no discrimination of love. And he loves you.”

“I will not forget your words,” he promised her.

And Galadriel smiled anew.

= = = = =

As the months passed in the land, Erestor fought with his new emotional capacity, experiencing double his usual understanding of sentiment. “For all that I now have,” he confided to Glorfindel over an evening’s tea, “all I used to have is deeper.”

Glorfindel looked at him uncertainly.

“Because I now have friendship,” Erestor explained, “I have a fear of losing it. Because I know hope, despair is more threatening. Because I have pride, embarrassment is far more severe. Having learned excitement, boredom is torture. I now take gratification in my work, and so failure is detrimental to my mind. And all those whirling, swirling feelings I cannot yet put name to confuse me all my waking hours. It is not unpleasant,” he clarified with a lopsided smile. “For the first time I can truly remember, I take pleasure in life. But things are even now settling, and as they do confusion still wars in my heart and my mind. But do not doubt that I am your friend.”

Glorfindel nodded. He could do little else. “And never doubt, Erestor, that I am your friend, despite whatever else I may feel.”

= = = = =

And during all this time, Erestor relinquished his position to another, so that he could focus on confronting that swirling, twirling mass of emotion within him. And as everything fell into place, Glorfindel often was with him, and they reveled in the simple things that Erestor so easily accepted. First among them was humor. So long had Erestor understood jokes and just not found them funny, that they would sit for hours together, Glorfindel recounting all the yarns and tricks and comic stories that he could ever remember, and they would laugh and laugh in the shade of the trees on the bank of the river.

Still, Erestor made his daily inspection and sat at meetings and consulted with others. He hopefully embraced a circle of Elves that he was willing to reach out to and who now reached out to him, that they knew he no longer lived in solitude.

Throughout the years, Glorfindel loved him only more, sharing in this new love of life.

= = = = =

One day, when Glorfindel sat alone in the stables, tending to a recently birthed colt, Erestor snuck cleverly upon him and shouted a greeting in his ear.

Glorfindel jumped in surprise and his heartbeat flared.  
 Erestor laughed.

Shaking his head with a weak smile, Glorfindel chuckled. “You’ve gotten good at that. Just remember never to sneak upon me when a sword is within my reach.”

“I will remember,” Erestor promised, pretending not to see Glorfindel eyeing him in his new trousers and closely fitting shirt. He turned his own attention to the little horse, taking its first faltering steps in the hay, watched over by an anxious mother. “How is the little one?”

“Not so little,” Glorfindel answered, facing the struggling animal. “And strong. He will be a lord among horses.”

“Has he a name?”

“No,” the Golden Elf answered, turning toward him once more, “you shall have the privilege, if you like.”

Erestor smiled at the gift and opened the stall door. The tired mare eyed him warily, but Erestor approached her slowly and laid his hand on her muzzle. She knew instantly that he presented no threat. He knelt in the hay and studied the colt, standing now on wobbly legs. “Asfaloth, you shall be a lord of your people.”

The little creature made a snort and took a few steps before falling sideways, hooves flailing in the air. Erestor laughed at the sight, but said, “Do not worry! I am sure Glorfindel started off the same way.”

“Hey!”

Erestor grinned secretly at his friend and stood, brushing the debris from his knees. “They will be well,” he said of the animals, as the mother licked clean her colt.

Glorfindel looked wonderingly at him. “Why have you come here, Erestor?”

The Counselor turned to focus directly on him. “I am ready,” he said.

“Ready?” Then Glorfindel understood. “Ah, a kiss!” he said, jumping from his perch atop the stall wall and beholding Erestor with excited blue eyes. “Tonight, in a secret place,” he declared.

Without warning, he leapt the stall door and sprinted away, calling over his shoulder, “I must prepare!”

Erestor only laughed as he watched Imladris’ Captain race away.

= = = = =

Erestor waited in the library as a messenger had bid him, and he found himself buried in some ancient text when a light tap on his shoulder turned him to face a shining countenance with clear blue eyes and a mischievous grin. “Come with me, Erestor.”

The Counselor took the hand that was offered him. They ignored the few whispers that followed them through the halls until they reached a pair of vaguely familiar doors. Erestor stopped short. “I’ve never been in your rooms . . .”

Glorfindel gazed on him happily. “You think I don’t know that? Come!” With great excitement, Glorfindel flung open the tall double doors that were dark mahogany and engraved with battle scenes. He practically dragged Erestor across the threshold and shut the doors behind them.

Erestor gaped at the sight. Unlike his own small and comfortable chamber, this ceiling curved in a high dome above them, gilt with curling knots and dark blue coffered sections painted with stars. The dark walls alternated red paint and mahogany panels, with giant purple drapes around the tower room, which was a cylinder and absolutely huge. The bed was monstrous, with two layers of steps leading up to the red draped frame. The desks, the chairs, the giant wardrobe, the candelabra and shelves, all were decadent and brilliant and huge. “I am glad,” said Glorfindel, “that you still have no eye for beauty, that you cannot see the gaudiness here.”

“Oh, I can see it,” Erestor promised him, eyeing the multi-colored rugs plastering the floor that made his eyes cross. He looked at Glorfindel. “But it suits you, and though I cannot yet see it, I am certain there is beauty to be found here.”

Glorfindel shrugged gracefully. “None of this is why I brought you here.”

Erestor looked to a long table, covered with piles of food and bottles. “I can guess what the plan for tonight is.”

“I want you to taste everything,” Glorfindel keenly told him. “I wish I could teach it all to you. All the tastes I love.”

Erestor smiled lightly at him. “You will.” He walked over to sit at the chair that awaited him and then tilted his head up expectantly. “I don’t remember my first kiss,” he teased, “so you better make this a good one.”

If it was possible, Glorfindel blushed. “I will try.” He nervously approached Erestor to crouch there. He closed his eyes, remembering the taste of the ash. Control.

This kiss was light, a press of skin, and then gone.

Erestor licked his lips and looked curiously at Glorfindel.

“What?”

The dark Elf opened his mouth as if to speak, but then shook his head. “Nothing.” He surveyed the sagging table and chuckled. “What is first?”

Glorfindel’s mouth formed a slow smirk as he stood to walk the length of the table. He chose from a bowl of fruit a tiny, perfect strawberry. He returned to present it to Erestor, saying. “I am glad they are in season, for strawberries should never go unappreciated.”

Hoping to soon understand Glorfindel’s deep appreciation of food, Erestor nodded and took the small berry in eager fingers. He held it to trembling lips and bit into the succulent red flesh. “Oh by the Valar . . .” He lifted wide eyes to Glorfindel. “I never knew anything could taste so good. What else is there?”

The next hours were a slow and careful exploration of Erestor’s taste buds. He tried all the fruits that Imladris boasted, and some that it didn’t. Then came the vegetables. Then the meats and finally, the baked goods: muffin, tart, scone, cake, pie, Erestor lost track of them all, swimming in sensation.

“This is the last,” Glorfindel proudly proclaimed.

“What is it?” Erestor asked, hardly daring to look.

“Chocolate.”

Glorfindel watched as Erestor sampled the sweet. His dark eyes opened wide and he proclaimed, “I believe I’ve found a favorite. Of the savory and succulent, the spicy and rich, I judge sweet to be best of all.”

Glorfindel laughed and then said, “Excellent! Now, we have the wines.”

“Oh,” Erestor declared, half collapsing in his chair, “you mean to make me fat and drunk all in one night!”

“Let this one night be your one night of indulgence!” And he set six glasses, all different, before him, with diverse colors gleaming like jeweled liquid within them. Erestor learned the taste of dry and sweet and light and spicy and found his preferred one to be a heavy and late ice wine.

“I’m hardly surprised,” Glorfindel answered, “if sweetness is to your liking.”

That night, Glorfindel escorted Erestor back to his rooms and the Counselor said to him, “Thank you. I do not think it will be long before I seek my next kiss.”

Glorfindel went to bed that night, dreaming of chocolate and wine and kisses, and Erestor did the same.

= = = = =

Barely a few weeks had passed, and Erestor had put on just a little weight, filling out the previously stick-like figure. It was noticeable to all that he had changed, and now he caroused with the rest at the dinner table, always awaiting new flavors to try.

But after those few weeks, he called again upon the Captain, this time as he was alone in the yard. Sword in hand, Glorfindel had discarded his shirt and went through the motions embedded in his memory. Erestor leaned over a high railing that overlooked the yard and he shouted down, “Glorfindel! I’m ready!”

The Golden Elf swung about to salute his friend with a fancy wave of his sword. “Then meet me tonight in your rooms!”

“Aye, I shall!” Erestor answered, and then scampered away again.

= = = = =

That evening after dinner, Glorfindel and Erestor forwent the Hall of Fire to walk arm in arm to Erestor’s chambers.

Once they were inside, the doors locked to the outside world, Erestor asked, “Why here?”

“Because this is the most familiar place to you. No surprises. Erestor, do you know why the first sense I gave you was taste?”

The wise Elf nodded. “Because it is controllable, utterly. No other sense is so perfectly contained. No other sense can be cut off.”

Glorfindel nodded. “So here we are, in your rooms.”

“Sight?” Erestor asked. “I shall see not only what is ugly, but also what is beautiful?”

Nodding again, Glorfindel agreed. “Just close your eyes.”

Complying at once, Erestor shut his dark orbs.

Perhaps Glorfindel thought a small prayer as he again recalled the taste of ash, and he kissed those ready lips.

Like the last, it was short, but this time also firm, and Glorfindel pulled back, waiting expectantly.

Erestor breathed, certain this time that he could feel a change within him and he opened his eyes and as though a veil had been lifted, he stared at the face before him.

Glorfindel stared back eagerly, anticipating that Erestor would look about the room, at the art or the colors, but he did not. “Erestor,” he said, “what are you looking at?”

“You,” Erestor told him shamelessly. “I do not need to be taught the meaning of the words this time, the words that define the pleasures of the senses. I know that you are beautiful.”

Glorfindel laughed and stepped back. Erestor’s eyes swept up and down his form. Glorfindel laughed again and grabbed Erestor’s hand. He opened the door and pulled the Counselor behind him. Erestor gaped at the passing hallways, at the statues reflecting the flickering torchlight, the carved banisters, the leafy cornices, the tiled floors. “Where are we going?” he demanded.

He received no answer and Glorfindel then halted. Along one hall, the wall was a line of mirrors, and here he placed Erestor, so that he could see himself. Erestor stared. “Is it wrong to think myself beautiful, too?” he asked after a few moments’ study.

“Not when it is true,” Glorfindel answered.

Erestor turned to him. “Why did you show me this?”

“I wanted you to see what I see when I look at you.”

If it was possible for them to blush in synchrony, then it could be said that they did.

Then the pair took a slower paced walk through the halls, Glorfindel pointing out all his favorite parts of the House. “And this you have to see,” he promised. “But first,” he held up a blindfold, a simple scrap of pale blue. “Do you trust me?”

“Implicitly,” Erestor answered without pause.

And so Glorfindel bound his eyes and with the utmost care guided his friend outside and through paths in the wood, cautiously over protruding roots and past low hanging branches. “All right,” he whispered. “Take it off.”

Erestor pulled the cloth from his eyes and looked where Glorfindel pointed, to the blue-black dome of sparkling lights.

Far from the House in the darkling forest, Erestor fell to his knees and wept. “I did not know,” he gasped, trying to blink his tears away, “that anything could be so beautiful.”

= = = = =

It was a long time before Erestor could stop weeping at the stars.

The next days were spent walking, and talking in secret of the beauty of the world. Erestor’s first stroll in the gardens was hysterical as he ran from flower to bud to bloom, exclaiming each time how such splendor could be so different yet no less. They looked at the clouds and they watched the people, they examined the art and observed the animals.  
 And still, it was a long time before Erestor could stop weeping at the stars.

= = = = =

After one morning Council meeting, Erestor drew Glorfindel aside and said to him, “I do not think I shall ever be rid of tears at the sight of stars. But I want more, I am ready.”

“Are you sure?” Glorfindel asked with worry. Erestor stared at him. Glorfindel nodded and grinned. “All right. I’ll find you tonight after dinner. We’ll go to the Hall of Fire.”

“Music . . .” Erestor wondered with anticipation.

“Yes,” Glorfindel agreed. “We shall sit in a shadowed corner. It is easy to fall to weeping at the sound of Elves singing.”   
“Tonight,” Erestor answered, “I probably will.”

= = = = =

Glorfindel had not sat near him at dinner, and so Erestor stayed in his seat, looking about the dining hall for a glimpse of that golden hair.

He felt a tug on the hem of his robes.

He flipped up the tablecloth to look beneath.  
 Glorfindel waved him down. “Come here!” he whispered fiercely.

Erestor sighed and ducked under the table.

“I wanted to do this quick, before the music started,” Glorfindel told him. “But I didn’t think you’d want to be seen.”

“How thoughtful,” Erestor agreed. “Now kiss me.”

“How could I refuse such charm?” Glorfindel laughed.

Again the kiss was firm, but this time Glorfindel lingered just a bit longer as they crouched there beneath the table, secret and still.

When he pulled away, Erestor stared at him. “Say something quick, Glorfindel. I want your voice to be the first thing I hear.”

“You are turning silly, Erestor. Let’s go to the hall.”

Erestor felt a thrill within him at the deep and rusty tone of Glorfindel’s voice, but they snuck from the table and into the Hall where the first plucking of strings resounded.

Quickly, Glorfindel secured them a darkened bench to share and he watched as Erestor sat, enraptured by the music.

Only an hour they stayed, Erestor tense and entranced and weeping, before he could take it no longer and crept away from the Hall. Glorfindel followed him and Erestor kept walking, away from the house and into the dark night. To Whitehenge they went, to the solid weight of the stones.

Erestor walked away from the exterior circle to a distant and solitary rock and lowered himself to the ground, his back against the heel stone, his head in his hands.  
 Glorfindel sat beside him, careful to remain silent. But there was naught he could do to silence the wind or the crickets or the hooting owls. “I can’t escape it,” Erestor murmured. “Taste was simple. If I did not like it, I did not eat it. Sight was easy too. It is easy to close one’s eyes. But I cannot stop up my ears, Glorfindel. I did not know beauty could be so overwhelming.”

Glorfindel rested a comforting hand on Erestor’s shoulder, but the Elf barely felt it. Instead he said, “Speak to me, Glorfindel.”

“What shall I say?”

“Anything,” Erestor begged, his eyes closed to the world, his tears still running. “Anything to overcome this noise.”

From Glorfindel’s perspective, there was little ‘noise’ as Erestor called it, but he then supposed that the nighttime sounds were indeed beautiful and overwhelming if unused to it. So he said, “There once was a maid of Numenor, Who visited every man’s door, She charged but a cent, To pay for her rent, And she was their top dollar whore.”

Erestor laughed. “That was crude, and a weak joke.”

“I know,” Glorfindel said, “but I’ve already told you all the limericks I know.”

“Make up another,” Erestor asked.

Glorfindel thought a few moments and then smiled wickedly. He said:

“Haldir -- guardian of the Golden Wood--  
Always behaved as a proper Elf should  
'Til Legolas the Gay  
Flitted his way  
And aroused the poor warden's elfhood.

“What on Middle Earth is an elf to do  
When a prince demands his due?  
Fall to your knees,  
Open up and say please,  
And learn the art fellatio.

“That’s just what the prideful Elf did  
When Prince Legolas thusly bid.  
He grabbed that pole,  
Swallowed it whole,  
And up and down his lips sweetly slid.

“Mirkwood’s Prince, with a grunt and a groan,  
Encouraged the warden, who let out a moan.  
Legolas took aim  
And swiftly he came  
At being so skillfully blown.”

They rolled on the ground, bursting with guffawing laughter. “Glorfindel! You scoundrel!” Erestor thumped his friend’s arm. “You are truly wicked! . . . make up one about Thranduil!”

And so they spent their night, and Glorfindel sheltered Erestor’s ears from the sounds of the world with the comfort of his own voice.

= = = = =

Too many nights that week, Glorfindel had to sing Erestor to sleep. It was the only sound that could block out all others and it was many months before Erestor felt comfortable with this new perception of melody.

But one day, he suggested to Glorfindel, “We should try dancing sometime.”

Glorfindel agreed, “I would like that very much.” Erestor was working in the library and Glorfindel avidly watched. “But I should like to wait just a while longer.”

“Fair enough,” Erestor agreed. “I will be ready in a few days, I think. Scent is next then?”

“Aye.”

“Fair enough,” Erestor repeated.

= = = = =

Arm in arm, Glorfindel escorted Erestor deep into the woods at daybreak. They sat side by side on a fallen tree and Glorfindel recalled to himself the taste of ash. He kissed Erestor slow but chaste and when he pulled away, he watched the Elf formerly known as a Ghost as he widened his eyes and stood and moved slowly through the trees, leaning in to learn the sources of all those scents he understood for the first time to be pleasurable. Glorfindel simply sat on the tree and watched until Erestor finally turned to him and said, “The forest has grown more and more calming to me in these past months as you’ve awakened me. It is even more contenting yet. The scents here are subtle and wild and spicy and I love them.”

Glorfindel smiled. “Good. But I’d like to take a turn past the bakery. There’s nothing like the scent of baking bread.”

Erestor agreed to go with him, and as they reached the first stone paths of Imladris, Erestor cocked his head curiously and halted their steps. “What is that?” he asked, sniffing the air.

“Follow it,” Glorfindel bid him, and Erestor ran off down the path, Glorfindel on his heels.

Erestor ended up at the windows to the kitchen, looking hungrily up at the sill where various rolls and other breakfast goods lay steaming in early morning air.

“Alain!” Glorfindel called out. “Are you there, little baker?”

A head of silver shining hair piled in a loose bun appeared over the sill that stood just at Glorfindel’s head. Alain stood on her tiptoes to look out at them, her face wide and jolly. “My sweet Captain,” she replied in her eternally cheerful voice, “Good morning to you, and to you, dear Chief Counselor!”

They greeted her happily in turn and Glorfindel said, “Have you no small trifle to feed a pair of early risen Elves?”

“Are you kidding?” she teased him, gathering something from out of sight. “Erestor sneaks in here almost every sunrise to beg some ‘small trifle’ from me.”

Glorfindel turned to a bashful Erestor. “Why you sneaking thief,” he teased in a rumbling voice. “I am impressed.” He smiled up at the short maiden who handed down two buns dripping with frosting and still hot from the oven, wrapped in linen napkins.

“And a good day to you,” she told them. “Now off and away, no more bothering me today!”

They thanked her and waved farewell and turned down the path, Erestor inhaling the scent of the pastry. “I did not know food could both smell and taste delicious!” he remarked enthusiastically before taking a bite of their breakfast.

Glorfindel watched him and smiled gently and nibbled his own bun as they walked in the morning.

= = = = =

For many months more, Erestor settled into his senses, and he regained that air of dignity that had seemed lost in his exploration. Glorfindel was glad to see it return. But he was saddened, too, to see Erestor find a balance in his life, between what he had newly learned and what he had always known. He again took up the mantle of Chief Counselor and was again busy in much of his work. He spent his free time with the many friends he had gained: Elrond and Lindir and Melpomaen. And Glorfindel could see himself simply slipping away from Erestor, as though there was nothing he could do to stop it. The time they shared grew less, and he let it.

These days he often visited with a solid old oak that was content to listen to him cite his woes. The tawny heads of golden grasses nodded in sympathy and Glorfindel found solitude there a little less solitary. Though he still mourned.

But finally, one day, when Glorfindel was walking the widest circle of Whitehenge, Erestor appeared at his side and walked with him. “I am surprised,” the Counselor finally remarked, his voice again quiet and steady as it always had been, “that you have not sought me out.”

Glorfindel shrugged. “I wanted to let you . . .”

“Enjoy my life?”

“Yes.”

“I thank you for it. But I begin to think your love for me is fading.”  
 Glorfindel was shocked to hear Erestor himself bring up the subject of love, so it was a moment before he responded. He shook his head and looked aside to his friend. “Never think that,” he said gently, “for it never will.”

Erestor laughed quietly. “I think you are overly romantic.”

“Oh, to be sure!” Glorfindel agreed. “I won’t differ with you on that point.”

Nodding, Erestor begrudged him a tiny smile, just a turning up of the corners of his mouth. That was pretty much what Erestor’s smiles had become and, again, Glorfindel thought it befitted his character quite well. “I meant to tell you,” Erestor mentioned, “I am enamored of my room. It is a place I long for when the world wearies me.” They walked in silence a long while before he added, “Everything you’ve given me pleases me.”

Glorfindel cast a sideways smile at him and nodded in acceptance.

“Would you come to my rooms tonight, Glorfindel, and give to me a kiss?”

Again, the Golden Elf only nodded, but his smile broadened.

They continued to meander the vast stone circles for a long time in silent companionship.

= = = = =

That evening after a few hours in the Grey Courtyard listening to some gypsy minstrels and a visiting choir, Glorfindel and Erestor departed.

“Will you walk with me?” Erestor asked as they strode up the steps to the main door.

“Nay,” Glorfindel told him at the corridor where their paths broke. “I will be there soon, though.”

“Very well,” Erestor bowed his head curtly. “I anticipate your arrival.”

= = = = =

Erestor found his nerves fluttering as he sat at the window, overlooking the evening in Imladris where tumblers and jugglers and magicians plied their craft. It was as though a foreign, driving force within him knew that he was finally going to be complete. He smiled at his shadowy reflection in the window, the flickering orange of the evening torches flaring on his features.

And he jumped at the knock on the door. Erestor turned around. “Come in.”

Glorfindel opened the door, cradling something carefully in his arms.

Erestor stood and walked over to shut the door with a soft click. He eyed his friend suspiciously. “Glorfindel. Why do you have a rabbit?”

“It’s just a baby,” Glorfindel cooed at the little ball of fluff, holding it up so Erestor could see.

The Counselor couldn’t help smiling at the tiny creature with wide eyes and a fluttering heartbeat. “It is rather cute,” he said quietly.

Glorfindel watched Erestor watch the animal. “Are you ready?” he asked.

Erestor met his eyes and nodded.

“Do you want to sit down?”

Erestor looked about himself. “Might be a good idea.” He walked over to the window again, where the music crept passed the glass. He sat on the padded window seat and Glorfindel followed, keeping the little rabbit on his lap as he sat beside him. “You’re sure? This is the last one.”

“Just kiss me Glorfindel.” Erestor’s smile was sweet. He closed his eyes.

For but a moment, Glorfindel frowned, entranced by Erestor’s peaceful face, lit by the courtyard torches through the window. He leaned forward, remembering the taste of ash only just as his lips met Erestor’s.   
 And as he pulled slowly away, he could have sworn that Erestor followed, maintaining the contact of their mouths for a few moments more.

Erestor opened his eyes. Glorfindel was watching him, watching as Erestor looked down to his own hands. He touched the velvet robe he wore and smiled. He reached out to feel the smooth, cool glass. Then he looked at Glorfindel. “What?”

He held out the tiny white rabbit. “Pet the bunny, Erestor.”

First, Erestor laughed at Glorfindel, then he reached out to touch the soft white fur. He gasped. “It’s so . . .”

“Smooth,” Glorfindel told him.

“Yes, and--”

“Soft.”

“Yes.” Erestor cupped the rabbit’s back. “I can feel it, how she’s breathing, her heartbeat! It’s amazing! Can I hold her?”

Glorfindel carefully handed her over and Erestor cupped his hands around her and brought her close to his chest. She looked up at him with bright and trusting eyes, calming in his embrace.

Erestor was enthralled with the tiny creature. “Can she stay here with me?”

Cocking his head at the picture before him, Glorfindel said, “I think she would like that. We could set up a little pen. Maybe beside the desk.”

“Yes. I would like that.” He spoke more to the rabbit than to Glorfindel. “Does she have a name?”

“I’ve just been calling her Bunny.”

“Well,” Erestor said, “I think we can do better than that.” He held her up close to his face. “Liantosseloth.”

“That’s quite a mouthful for such a little thing.”

Erestor feigned a pout. “She likes it.”

“Uh-huh,” Glorfindel huffed skeptically.

With sudden interest, Erestor eyed Glorfindel. He set Liantosseloth on the floor, where she hopped happily under the bed. Then Erestor reached out. He took a clump of Glorfindel’s free-flowing hair to rub it carefully between his fingers. “Smooth,” he whispered. “And soft.” He let go the hair and then reached with hesitant, careful fingers for Glorfindel’s apprehensive face. He smoothed his fingers over the crease between fine, golden eyebrows and then down his strong nose, over angular cheekbones. He danced fingertips lightly over fluttering eyelashes and parted pink lips. When he ran those curious fingers up a pointed ear, Glorfindel shivered. Erestor jumped in turn at the reaction and whispered, “Why do you pull away?”

Glorfindel reddened and stood. “Uh . . . Here,” he said, walking shakily over to the vanity to find a hairbrush. “Face the window.”

Erestor raised a brow.

“Trust me.”

Sighing heavily, Erestor turned to the window with one leg folded beneath him, looking again out to the courtyard. But he froze when he felt Glorfindel’s fingers searching in his hair to remove the silver butterfly clip and run through to loosen the braids. Erestor shivered, tensing and relaxing at the same time to the feel of the bristles gently pulling his hair as Glorfindel ran the brush through it. “It feels so good,” he wondered in hushed tones, eyes closed.

“It always feels better,” Glorfindel agreed, “when someone else does it.”

Then he set the hairbrush aside, moving his strong hands to Erestor’s shoulders. “Thought I might try that massage again.”

Erestor shuddered and sighed as Glorfindel smoothed away the knots and tension from the muscles in his back. A thrilling sensation ran through him and he abruptly stood and turned to face him. “Thank you, Glorfindel.” He smiled nervously and then reached out to the window. He unhooked the latch and flung it open and waltzing music from below lifted up into the room. “How about that dance?” he asked, gazing at Glorfindel.

The Golden Elf nodded and opened his arms and Erestor went into them and they held one another and they moved together.

Then the cunning music slowed. Glorfindel held him tighter and looked affectionately at the one he loved.

Erestor let himself be pulled closer, wondering at the rousing feeling of being so intimately close to another. It seemed he could feel all of Glorfindel, his soft breath, his strong heart, his gentle hands, the sheer warmth of him. Muscles moving under suede. That soft golden hair swaying lightly. The rumble of his voice when he spoke, though the words went unheard. The overall breadth and strength of him. His hands. And all the other things, his handsome face and twinkling eyes, the sound of his laughter, the subtle smoky scent of him.

Erestor smiled and rested his head on a strong shoulder, and Glorfindel’s hand brushed his arm. A stronger thrill than he’d ever felt ran through the length of his body. He gasped. He pulled out of the dance and turned on his heel to face the bed. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he blustered out quickly.

“Ah,” Glorfindel blinked owlishly at him, arms open and empty and slowly falling to his sides. “All right.” He waved goodbye to Liantosseloth, who peeped out from beneath the bed. “Then, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Right,” Erestor said shortly. “Night.”

Glorfindel nodded, even though Erestor refused to face him. He left, making sure the door clicked securely behind him, and smiled all the way to his own door.

= = = = =

All the while he prepared for bed, Glorfindel could not rid himself of the silly grin. He thought he knew why Erestor had hid himself from him, why he’d began to flush pink, why his body had heated and pressed back against him.

The Golden Elf crawled naked between the cool sheets and lay still, looking up at the red and gold canopy. Still grinning, he could not help but wonder if Erestor was touching himself intimately in that blue-draped bed. And wondering, he could not help but imagine it. And imagining it, he could not help but touch himself.

= = = = =

The next morning, Erestor had a considerable deal of difficulty meeting Glorfindel’s eyes. And for the time being, Glorfindel was okay with that.

Later in the afternoon, when Erestor seemed to have cooled a bit, Glorfindel snuck up behind him and asked, “Did you take a hot bath this morning?”

Erestor jumped at the sound of his voice, but then smiled shyly. “Aye, it was divine.”

“Yes I know. Say, Erestor, when can you be out of the office today?”

Pondering for a moment, Erestor looked to the floor as they walked. “Well before dinner, if I make haste in my work.”

“Then, by all means, make haste. And meet me by the front gate when you’re done. Wear something easy to move in.”

Erestor only sighed and said, “As it pleases you.” But he smiled as he said it.

= = = = =

So it was, well before dinner they met by the ancient stone archway that opened out onto the forest. They both wore loose trousers and shirts and light boots. Erestor had readopted his old neutral hues, but they were now adorned in lines of brilliant colors, like the blue ribbon that bound his hair in that thick black braid, and the red thread that laced up his shirt from waist to throat. “What’s all this about?” he asked Glorfindel, who was wearing a white shirt and green leggings.

“We are going to run.”

“Run?”

“Aye. For the utter enjoyment of it. Because it is fun.”   
“Running is fun?”

“As a child, did you never run, Erestor? Chase things?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Well then,” Glorfindel proposed as he indicated the forest, “a furlong down this road leads to a giant oak tree. You know the one?”

“On the left,” Erestor answered, “in the field of golden grass. Heavy with acorns and bird nests this time of year.”

“Yes, that’s the one,” Glorfindel agreed. “I bet I can reach it before you.”

Erestor tilted his head, contemplating. “You probably can. But I shall attempt to defeat you nonetheless.”

“Excellent!” Glorfindel adopted a ready stance. “On your mark! Get set!”

Erestor quickly imitated him.

“Go!”

Off they went, tearing along the road that turned from cobbles to dirt, and the dust flew up behind them and Erestor learned the sheer thrill of running, the total exertion of the body, of the wind whipping around and feet rhythmically hammering the earth and the rising beat of the heart and pumping blood. He hooted with joy, even as he ran.

Past the tall trees that arched over them in a branch-laid dome of leafy barrel vaults and sun-lit clerestories held by tall columned trunks. Past the curious deer with dark and shining eyes and beneath the tittering squirrels with questioning tails.

They ran the road south of Imladris, nearing an opening in the trees.

Neck in neck they rounded the final bend. To the left, a field of yellow grass rolled in the wind. In the center of the field, an ancient oak presided over all the lesser green and growing things.

A sudden burst of speed launched Glorfindel into the field, Erestor hounding him close on his heels.

With a final leap, Glorfindel tapped the tree as he rushed by, howling his victory. His hands stretched out to the heavens above as he slowly lost speed, shouting “Isn’t it--”

But his words were cut off.

Erestor barreled full-force into Glorfindel, knocking them askew into the tall grasses and rolling their bodies over and over, flattening the cylindrical blades into a golden blanket beneath them. They finally landed with a collective grunt, Erestor sprawled atop Glorfindel chest-to-chest and rather sideways.

And then they laughed, hugging one another and breathing hard.

When their laughter finally abated, Erestor rolled away so that they lay side by side, their backs along the solid earth, and still they panted in heaving breaths. The grass swayed in tawny waves about them. They watched the distant, white clouds.  
 Erestor’s hand crept across the smothered grass to clasp Glorfindel’s.

They did not look at one another.

“The clouds are pretty,” Erestor said simply.

“Yes. They are.”

“I wept at the sunrise this morning,” Erestor shyly confessed, voice small with his sandpaper rumble. “All those colors. All that light. It was enchanting. And the sun’s warmth on my skin was so delightful. The world is so wonderful, sometimes I think I can barely stand it.”

Glorfindel was shedding silent tears.

Erestor knelt up to lean over him, their hold on each other still firm. With his free hand, Erestor traced Glorfindel’s brow with a gentle thumb, his dark braid falling over his shoulder to drape along Glorfindel’s arm. “Why are you crying?”

Glorfindel’s sight blurred and he tried to blink away the tears to see more plainly the clear and beautiful face before him. Mirroring Erestor’s gesture, he reached up a trembling hand and he brushed against Erestor’s frowning lips. “I’ll always keep our last kiss in my heart with fond remembrance. And yet long for another.”

Erestor blinked, confused. “Why do you think it was our last?”

Glorfindel shook his head to chase the tears finally away. “What do you mean?”

“I love you, Glorfindel. After all that we’ve known together, how could I not? You’ve given me the world.” Then Erestor smiled, a blinding, brilliant light, haloed by the cloud-strewn sky. Then, he let go his hold on Glorfindel and stood proud, looking down at him. “And if you want another kiss,” he winked, “You’ll have to catch me.”

Then, he flew away, and Glorfindel sat up, his line of sight just clearing the tufty heads of the golden grass. “Not fair!” he crowed loudly, leaping to his feet and tearing madly over the heavily trodden grass.

With that, they were gone, and the field bore mute witness to the profession that would echo tirelessly there in the tawny field, where a flattened path of grass led to a broken circle where two bodies once lay side by side. Years would pass and the grass would grow tall and forget. But the ancient oak would live to see many ages more, and it would remember.

= = = = =

Erestor thrilled in the new sensation of reaching, for that’s what running was, it was reaching with your whole body for a distant point, stretching and pulling across the earth until he felt he might truly fly. He knew that Glorfindel was somewhere behind him, probably gaining, but for now: Erestor just ran.

He charged through the open gates, and the Elves who were strolling sedately in the courtyard stared in shock as the dark blur streaked past.

He rounded the House, past the high kitchen windows and the doors to the baths, and cut through the stables, where young Asfaloth peered between the horizontal bars of his stall with wide eyes.

Silent, he whipped round the circle of the white Healing Schools and through a long orchard of fruit trees and between a line of pines and down a green slope to a flat and neat-trimmed grassland where rose the giant, hulking stones. He skidded round the first large white stone he came to, peeping around it. Glorfindel was just slipping down the short, grassy hill, his eyes on the ground. Erestor straightened and quieted, stilling his breath and listening hard.

Glorfindel ran past and Erestor shot off toward the woods.

He’d taken barely two steps before Glorfindel tackled him. They landed hard, the breath squeezed out of them and Glorfindel forcefully pushed Erestor to his back on the soft green grass and held him down.

Erestor laughed nervously at the sparking light in Glorfindel’s eyes and he said weakly, “Looks like you’ve caught me.”

“And I shall claim my prize,” he growled into Erestor’s open and panting mouth.

Then Glorfindel fell atop him, their bodies aligning as though they’d been created to fit exactly together, and Glorfindel kissed him. It was a rough and a loving and a claiming kiss, with much nipping and growling and mashing of tongues. And as they carried on with the duel, Erestor harshly gripped innocent clods of earth in his fists as Glorfindel’s hands moved from Erestor’s biceps to more interesting parts of his body, parts that were obviously interested in him in turn.

Erestor reveled in the wandering hands touching parts of him that he was sure had nothing to do with kissing. He let go the fistfuls of grass to wind his arms around Glorfindel’s chest, and soon his hands also learned the art of wandering. They swept through sun-burnished strands of gold and snuck up under white linen to clutch at the naked skin of a strong and muscular back. A pair of clever fingers played with the point of an ear and he mastered the art of kissing in moments.

They traded breaths and groans under the light of the sun and Erestor’s body moved into the hand that grasped him through his pants.

And someone cleared his throat.

They froze. They pulled back to look one another in the eyes. They tried not to smile, Erestor pressing his lips together and Glorfindel biting his inside of his cheek. They turned their heads to see Lindir sitting cross-legged beside them, only a few feet away. The lithe and pretty minstrel rested one cheek in a hand whose elbow rested on one knee. The other hand cradled his smaller harp in his lap and his moon-pale hair blew softly in the breeze. Clear and sweet, he smiled at them, green eyes flashing. “Nice day for it,” he observed slyly.

“Ah,” Glorfindel said shortly, nimbly leaping to his feet and pulling Erestor up with him.  
 Lindir smiled up at them. It seemed he would say no more, and so Glorfindel bowed and pressed his lips together, still trying not to smile. Erestor grinned broadly at the minstrel and Glorfindel tugged the Counselor roughly along behind him. As they departed between the posts and under the lintels, silent and huge about them, Lindir called out “Nice night for it, too, I imagine!”

“Mind your music, Lindir!” Glorfindel shouted by way of chastisement.

Lindir stood from the grass and waved, though only Erestor was still looking back at him. “Oh, I shall,” he called playfully in return. “I will play loudly tonight, so as to cover the sounds of--”

“DON’T finish that sentence!” Glorfindel hollered over his shoulder, “. . . if you like your fingers where they are!”

= = = = =

Hand in hand they walked, they walked as though they were fearful to run, but too anxious to move any slower. Hand in hand they walked. Up the sweeping slope and between the line of pines and through the long fruit orchard and around the white circle of Healing Schools. They cut through the stables, ignoring the curious horses. They walked passed the baths and they walked passed the kitchens.

Many people saw them. Erestor with his green-stained knees and unwinding braid tousled with grass, and a beautiful bruise blooming on his neck. His lips were red and curved in a helpless smile. And he tried to hide (or at least hide a very prominent part of himself) behind Glorfindel. Who looked no better. His shirt was torn in the back and hung lopsided on his large frame and his hair was fraught with yellow weeds and straggled in great tangled snarls from his head. The look in his eyes was murderously passionate, chasing any in their way from the path.

As soon as they set foot in the House, they stopped short. Elrond glared at them. Erestor cowered. “At least,” the Lord pleaded in a gentle voice, “I ask you to at LEAST maintain SOME level of propriety in my House.” He raised a brow.

“We will, my Lord,” Glorfindel promised with a bow. Then, he grinned wickedly. “Or at least let me say that this is our one day of IM-propriety.” Then he swooped a lightly protesting Erestor into his arms and sauntered off down the hallway.

Elrond watched them go. He raised his eyes to the heavens. “Do you see this? Do you see what you’ve done to my best men, Galadriel?” He shook his head and wagged a finger at the ceiling. “You owe me for this.”

= = = = =

Erestor found he very much liked being carried. He could feel the sure strength in those arms. And he could gaze without distraction at his carrier. But his world was shaken when Glorfindel came to an abrupt halt at a break in the corridor. Erestor recognized the fork before them. He looked to the left and then to the right and lastly up to Glorfindel. He leaned up to whisper hotly in a pointed ear, “Your room.”

Glorfindel looked down at him. “Is it not too decadent?”

Erestor shrugged. “Bigger bed.”

Glorfindel smiled down lovingly at him. “Good point.”

He turned right and marched down the passage, Elves scampering out of the way as they passed.

= = = = =

When they reached the huge double entrance, Erestor released his hold on Glorfindel’s neck to reach down, turn the handle, and push open the door.

Glorfindel must have decided that wasn’t quite impressive enough; he kicked in the doors, which thundered with a satisfying bang on the interior walls. He swaggered across the multicolored rugs and up the two steps to the bed to dump Erestor there. He ran back to push shut the doors. He halted a moment, locked them, and then turned to press his back against the door and stare hungrily at the Elf spread like a sacrifice on the red velour cover of his bed.

For a moment, they breathed.

And then for a moment, Glorfindel lost his composure. He spoke in a breathy hiss that was little more than a whisper, his voice breaking. “I never truly thought I would have this.”

Erestor sat up to look pityingly at him. “You’ll get over it,” he promised in a sultry voice. Unhurriedly, his hands fluttered up to his throat.

Glorfindel’s eyes slowly widened.

Taking the ends of the thick red laces on his shirt, Erestor pulled. Gradually, the knot came loose, the shirt falling open at his neck. Bit by bit, Erestor loosened the threads until he pulled them out in one long strand. This he dangled over the edge of the bed, leaning over to let the black shirt gape open. He locked eyes with Glorfindel and dropped the lace to a puddle of crimson on the top step. He grinned.

Glorfindel growled. “I’m going to ravish you,” he threatened as he stalked menacingly toward the bed with a prowling gait, his blue eyes dark.

Erestor couldn’t stop grinning as he backed across the bed, the black shirt falling off a shoulder.

Then Glorfindel pounced. He leapt over the foot of the bed to grab Erestor’s bare shoulder and tear the shirt from him in shreds of ruined black in a brutal gesture of possession.

Then, the passion broke.

Glorfindel halted abruptly and grabbed Erestor’s arm, examining the tiny old scars that patterned his biceps in crosses of pale streaks on blushing skin. His rumbling voice fell to a dangerous whisper, “What are these?”

Erestor reached up to brush his own fingers over the lightly raised marks. He confessed, “When the only thing you can feel is pain, sometimes feeling the pain is better than feeling nothing.”

Glorfindel wrapped his fingers gently over a patch of the marks. “Never again,” he told Erestor.

The dark Elf nodded. “Never, not now that I can know all the pleasures of the world.”

Smoothing his hands over the patchwork scarring and down smooth arms, Glorfindel came to rest so that no part of his body was touching Erestor’s. Then, he leaned over, messy hair brushing against Erestor’s knees and bared stomach so that he could gently kiss the blade marked skin where pain had so long lived. In this gentle way, he chased Erestor to a reclining position on the bed, where he lay still and breathed heavy as Glorfindel explored the scarred skin of his upper arms.

Then the searching lips moved elsewhere, laying out a path over a lightly muscled chest and down a smooth torso.

Erestor groaned, thick and harsh, when Glorfindel began to play with the two nubs of flesh on his chest, that golden hair falling around to tickle his sensitized skin.

Busy hands gently manipulated Erestor’s dark trousers until they could be pulled down along smooth legs and tugged off altogether with the boots.

Glorfindel sat up a moment, thinking it was a glorious thing to have Erestor naked and needful in his red-lined bed.

Erestor opened lust shrouded eyes to look up at the golden angel, wild and magnificent above him. He reached out to tug gently at the white shirt as if to say, ‘why aren’t you naked?’

Glorfindel gave in to the silent request, lifting the shirt quickly over his head as if to keep Erestor in his sights as long as possible. He tossed it through the opening in the bed curtains and leaned closer so that Erestor could touch the bared skin, flushed and hot and growing slick.

Erestor lay still, but for his panting breaths and curious eyes and wandering hand. He stared hungrily at Glorfindel’s bared chest, much stronger and broader than his own, and defined in well-toned muscles deeply tanned like blushing bronze.

Erestor’s fingers caressed so lightly that Glorfindel shivered at the tickling sensation and as they met one another’s eyes, Glorfindel began an internal trembling that reached out through his whole body.

Eying him with a knowing stare, Erestor whispered in a voice that sounded nothing like his own, so deep and stuttering was it, “You’re holding back. You’re holding back a deluge of passion. I can see it. You don’t have to.”

Still, Glorfindel would not reach for him. His voice, too, shuddered with streaks of barely suppressed passion. “I want your first time to be painless.”

Seeing fear breaking in blue eyes, Erestor sat up and kissed a golden cheek. He smiled at the troubled countenance. “Glorfindel,” he said through a pretty smile, “Nothing with you is painless. That’s what life is. But your kiss has kindled in me a fire, and I’ve been cold too long. Fire keeps us warm,” he kissed Glorfindel’s mouth hungrily, “but it also burns. Don’t be afraid to burn me, Glorfindel.” His grin grew brilliant and sensual. “I’ll recover.”

Glorfindel reached out careful hands to untangle the last of the braid that remained in grass-matted black hair. “Do you promise?” he begged in a tiny voice.

Erestor nodded and caressed Glorfindel through his tightly stretched leggings.

“You,” Glorfindel gasped at the contact and closed his eyes with pleasure, “you know the m-mechanics?” he stuttered.

Leaning up on his knees to whisper in an ear, Erestor murmured, “I am VERY well read.”

And with that, Glorfindel could hold himself back no longer.

He growled and thrust Erestor to his back on the bed. He fought shortly with his own remaining clothes. The leggings didn’t survive, in fact, and he threw them to the floor with the rest.

What came next was less a love-making than a war-waging, with possessive bodies curling round one another and forcing and yielding, giving and taking, shoving and pulling, hurting and calming. Glorfindel bit and Erestor licked; Glorfindel bruised and Erestor soothed, Glorfindel took and Erestor gave.

Their bodies finally joined, they stilled, eyes wide in astonishment, as if they couldn’t recall how they could have come to such a state of affairs. Their breathing was harsh, but they carelessly exhausted what breath they had left in voracious kisses.

Then they broke apart and Glorfindel thrust and Erestor met him in the pounding, and scratched his back and bit his neck and wound strong legs around a strong waist and long they moved together, reveling in all the sensations Glorfindel had taught Erestor, the greatest of which was love.

The sun snuck past the thick plum drapes of the tower room and the red curtains of the bed to illuminate the writhing, desperate forms atop the crimson coverlet. Their passion had built to a frenzy, anxious and demanding, rendered by their desperate moans and needy cries and bruising, clutching hands.

Intensity, complexity, insanity, profanity, violence, extravagance, greed, need, glut, and lust drew them to their climax, loud and mad and pure and raw and good and perfect.

“Wonderful,” Erestor sighed up at the canopy as Glorfindel collapsed atop him.

“Perfect,” Glorfindel corrected him. “Perfect.”

After a few heady moments of panting silence, Erestor told him, “I was wrong.” He met cloudy blue eyes. “I thought I was complete. But I wasn’t. Not until now.”

= = = = =

They slept there, burrowing under silken sheets, wound together like strands of a rope: inseparable. But Glorfindel woke some time in the night and he extricated himself from the impossible knot to crawl from the bed, thick rugs trodden by quiet feet as he lit a few candles and snuck over to the washbasin to soak a towel in cool, clean water.

“Why are you up? Get your ass back in bed!”

“I thought I would . . .” Glorfindel began, turning to see a gorgeous naked Elf sitting up in his bed with a great tangled mass of black hair, still bedecked by shards of green grass. Glorfindel held up the wet towel in silent explanation.

“Why bother,” Erestor purred, advancing on hands and knees across the bed, “when we’re just going to do it again?”

“I didn’t hurt you?” Glorfindel asked, stepping cautiously forward. He wasn’t cautious enough. Once he was in reach, Erestor propelled his hand forward to wrap around Glorfindel’s cock.

Glorfindel dropped the towel.

“No need,” Erestor said as Glorfindel followed the relentless grip up onto the bed until he was straddling a pair of warm thighs, a very important part of himself still held fast in Erestor’s grip. Then the dark Elf leaned up, a mysterious fire in his coal-black eyes, to slowly lick up Glorfindel’s lips like a cat. “You’ve gotten me addicted to sensation,” Erestor pouted. “And you’re my only supplier.” Erestor laughed at the look on Glorfindel’s face. “Will you take me again, my patient professor, my courageous captain, my lively lover?”

Glorfindel smiled and leaned over to pursue Erestor’s retreating lips for a kiss. “Lover,” he moaned, “I like that.” His lips traced a path down from Erestor’s lips, exploring so much already red and bruised territory. “My love.” He parted long and lovely legs and he sought again that unity to complete them. So long and slow they moved, terrorizing the senses to a high level of heaven and sail there for awhile on pleasure alone until they crashed together on the shore of ecstasy.

= = = = =

They lay in bed and Glorfindel learned the poetry of Erestor’s tongue, as it wound promises of love into his ear as they succumbed to contented sleep.

Erestor learned for the first time what it was like to awake to a sun-warmed bed with strong arms entangled with his own.

He whispered to Glorfindel what it was like to have the first pleasurable touch in his life be that of Glorfindel kissing him.

They learned together the joys of love.

= = = = =

Life seemed to resume to a more normal pace where Imladris’ Captain and Chief Counselor were concerned. If those who knew of their relationship disapproved of it, nothing was said, and they were grateful for it.

Their lives were not void of pain or disappointment, for those are things that no one can be rid of, not even the Elves. But neither were they ever devoid of goodness, music, beauty, or love.

And when the time came for the Elves to leave the graying land of Middle Earth behind them, these two did so with a melancholy joy, following loyally their Lord. They rode their gray ship beyond the waters to the land and families that awaited them.

And behind them they left an old abandoned House, a circle of Standing Stones, and a golden field with an old oak tree. These are the places that still echo the joys of their love.

= = = = =

The End


End file.
